


We've Met Before

by gossamerghost



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Atsumu is a cursed prince, Dancing and Singing, Eventual Romance, Fairy God-Fathers - Hinata/Akaashi/Bokuto, Fairy Tale Retellings, M/M, Osamu is good at magic and has horns, Sleeping Beauty Elements, Witch Curses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:34:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27672104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gossamerghost/pseuds/gossamerghost
Summary: It is said that when Atsumu turned twenty-two, he would prick his finger upon a spinning wheel, and die. At least, that is what it had once been. The good fairy, Akaashi had used up his final wish for Atsumu’s future to lighten the sentence; eternal sleep would have to do instead.Atsumu, of course, knew of such things. Curses and fairies and doomed twins who perhaps had not been as ill-intentioned as everyone made them out to seem. They had plagued his dreams and every waking step since he had turned thirteen.A Sleeping Beauty AU
Relationships: Miya Atsumu/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Comments: 9
Kudos: 56





	1. once upon a dream

**Author's Note:**

> Originally this was supposed to be much shorter but then the story evolved past just a Sleeping Beauty AU and the plot spun wildly out of my control, so now it's much longer and more involved. Atsumu is a lost prince, Kiyoomi is tired and enchanted by a stranger in the woods, and Osamu is trying his best.
> 
> Enjoy!

**i. a secret cottage**

In a cottage in the woods a handsome flaxen-haired man dances in the grass, barefoot and free. He warbles out a song in a tune that’s not quite right but that detail doesn’t matter because he is alone and unbothered.

Miya Atsumu was gentle and kind, raised to be that way by a trio of fairies --  _ Bokuto _ , a green fairy.  _ Akaashi _ , a blue fairy. And  _ Hinata _ , a red fairy -- after his twin brother, Osamu, a powerful sorcerer in training, had placed a curse so vile and unfortunate upon him as a child.

It is said that when Atsumu turned twenty-two, he would prick his finger upon a spinning wheel, and die. At least, that is what it had once been. The good fairy, Akaashi had used up his final wish for Atsumu’s future to lighten the sentence; eternal sleep would have to do instead.

Atsumu, of course, knew of such things. Curses and fairies and doomed twins who perhaps had not been as ill-intentioned as everyone made them out to seem. They had plagued his dreams and every waking step since he had turned thirteen. 

And of course there was the matter of the man who appeared to Atsumu every evening as he slept. Handsome, strong-jawed, two moles placed like little stars above his right eyebrow. Atsumu was certain they had met before, perhaps in childhood? Or perhaps in passing at a market and being so striking, Atsumu’s mind had decided to weave the memory of this man into every facet of every fantasy Atsumu had about what the future beyond his 22nd birthday might look like. Though, he supposed he did not need to worry much longer -- just a year. 

One year was all that separated Atsumu from his true freedom, from his  _ kingdom _ and  _ princedom _ . 

“God-fathers,” Atsumu had called earlier that morning, dashing down the steps from the second level of their cottage, dressed for an outing. The trio of men looked up from their respective tasks, alert and ready at a moment’s notice. “I’m goin’ out.”

“Out?” Akaashi asked, brows knit together in immediate concern. “Oh, well, none of us are quite ready for a trip into the village.”

Atsumu had fully known this. “Mm, but it’s such a lovely day. You wouldn’t want to keep me from that, would ya?”

Bokuto fidgeted with the hem of his emerald cloak, not one to enjoy depriving Astumu of the things he wanted. “How bad could it be to let him out for a bit, ‘Kaashi?”

“Very bad, Bokuto,” he said, sternly.

Atsumu frowned, “But you all told me that Osamu didn’t mean ta hurt me, that he wouldn’t be looking for me. That all this hiding was just an extra precaution. Or did you not mean that?”

Akaashi’s expression softened at his questioning. “Osamu  _ didn’t  _ mean to hurt you. However, the curse he placed on you is incredibly powerful and it marks you as a target for other forces of evil. So, in that way, hiding is a precaution to keep you safe until you pass twenty-two and clear the deadline for your curse.”

“There are a great number of spirits that would whisk you away from us forever if they knew they could use your curse and its power against the Kingdoms of the Sun,” Hinata said, grimly.

“And, it’s not as simple as just hiding you!” Bokuto added, butting in as he was want to do. “We placed a spell over everyone who remembers you, like a fog, so that they would not be able to reveal anything about you to any people that might want to hurt you. It will lift, of course, at dawn on your birthday. So, we will have twenty-four hours in which we’ll need to be extra vigilant for your safety…”

“But my birthday is still several months away,” Atsumu whined, adjusting his pack on his back. “Please, god-fathers, please?”

Hinata cracked his knuckles. “Atsumu, you may go out for the day. But! You must not speak to strangers, you must not go into town, and you  _ must  _ be back before dusk. Understood?”

Atsumu beamed, “Yes! Yes! Understood.” He jumped the final steps and rushed to press a kiss against each of his god-father’s cheeks before bolting out the door. “Love ya so much.”

  
  


**ii. a weary prince**

Sakusa Kiyoomi was already long tired of being prince by the time he fell from his horse in the woods in the stretch of land beyond his kingdom. He leaned into the fall as it happened, his gold-woven diadem toppling from its place in his dark curls, crunching beneath his body as he rolled onto the ground. 

Fearfully, his steed shrieked, spooked by some strange shadow or beast or perhaps the whispers of the wind and fled into the dappled shade of whatever lay beyond. Kiyoomi huffed a sigh, jostling the stray curls which now dropped across his forehead. It’d be so deeply tiring to clean his cloak, made of a brilliant yellow cloth, of dirt when he returned home.  _ If _ he returned home, he thought to himself, pushing up from the ground to assess his surroundings.

_ There was a voice singing out in the distance. _

Growing up, the third in line for the throne, Kiyoomi, had known three things with absolute certainty.

_ The first.  _

It was simply exhausting to pretend you cared about things you did not. So, he learned early on to speak with a sharpness, a bluntness, with an air of total honesty. And that was fine. He did not yet have to care much for the repercussions of his words. Kiyoomi had two older siblings who were directly before him to ascend to the throne of the Itachiyama Kingdom. Of course, that was also why he’d been betrothed to a faraway prince since the moment he’d been born. 

_ The second. _

Somewhere, somehow, the man he was supposed to spend the rest of his life with was off becoming his own person. This mysterious prince, spirited away after his twin had cursed him by three fairies who had seemingly nothing better to do.

Kiyoomi had met this prince dozens of times before the time he’d turned twelve but memory was a funny thing and now it was like a veil had been placed over every aspect of his lost love. 

Prince Osamu was the sole remainder of their duology but he was not treated as next in line. Instead, when their father had been killed in a raid on their castle, their mother, beautiful and strategic, had remarried a recently widowed king from a nearby land. 

King Tooru was welcomed into the Inarizaki Kingdom with fanfare and adoration. It was easy to understand why; they had lost their crown prince to the curse his brother, unusually gloomy and grey, had placed upon him and continued to show no remorse for, and Tooru was handsome, courageous, and ruled as benevolently as a kingdom burdened by memories of better times could ask for.

King Tooru had always spoken kindly of this lost prince to Kiyoomi when they saw each other, but a shadow seemed to hang on his face when he did so. Was it fear of losing the throne? After all, that was the threat Kiyoomi posed to him -- ascension and dethronement. When Kiyoomi, at a brash twenty, had outright asked the king, he regarded him coldly.

“I do not fear losing the throne, Prince Kiyoomi.” Tooru spoke, sharp and unkind. “I fear that the prince who has chosen moon and shadow over sun and prosperity has doomed us all to a fate greater than death.”

“Is there such a thing?” Kiyoomi wondered, thinking that the quiet dark of death did not seem so formidable a foe to a king who had seen many lives lost before his own eyes.

King Tooru’s gaze grazed over his bold companion. “Yes.” And that was all he deigned to say.

The lost prince was seldom spoken of now, even on the visits Kiyoomi made to bring gifts and offerings to Tooru and his queen. Even as Kiyoomi aided in the building of a summer home, covered in mosaic tile and stained glass images of foxes and deer and birds. Even as he selected the fine silks and velvets that were to make up his wedding vestments, chose the flowers that would adorn every inch of the grand ballroom, visited the vaults to handpick the jewels that would be laid into his future king’s crown. His equal’s crown.

Who at all could fill such a role?

_ Kiyoomi met Osamu only once in passing. Time had turned him handsome and severe; a set of golden goat’s horns having curled out from beneath his silver hair and settled on either side of his head. It made him strangely alluring but all the more frightening. Kiyoomi couldn’t help but wonder if his betrothed look something similar. _

_ “What are ya starin’ at?” Osamu had asked when Kiyoomi had ducked into the back-castle kitchen where the moonchild was making himself a meal.  _

_ Osamu wore a long maroon cloak embroidered in a bright green and amber thread with intricate patterns of constellations. He blinked when he realized who Kiyoomi was, inclining his head down, minutely, to acknowledge his rank. “Yer highness,” he added blandly. _

_ “Do you look like him?” Kiyoomi blurted out.  _

_ Osamu blinked, then looked away, mouth drawn thin and quivering. “Not quite.” _

_ “Ah,” Kiyoomi replied, instantly regretful.  _

_ Osamu nodded, “He’s uglier.” _

_ Kiyoomi cracked a crooked smile at him which made Osamu’s shoulders relax, if only a little bit. The princeling busied himself with cutting into a loaf of bread which had been specifically set aside for him by the head chef, Tendou.“Do you miss him?” _

_ This question hung heavy in the air as Osamu lifted a kettle from where it whistled over a fire and took it to the small dining table tucked in the back to pour it out into a cup for tea.  _

_ Carefully, he set it down and turned back to his companion. “I made a mistake when I was very young, playing games with a brother who teased me and I teased back in turn.” _

_ Osamu stretched his hands out, palms up. Across the pale skin there were burned in runic designs. He flipped them over and revealed the same marks echoed there. “It is a burden to be born with powers like these, ones that ya cannot know and control at thirteen, let alone as a true child. I regret what I did, but I never intended to hurt ‘im.” _

_ Kiyoomi nodded. “Have you tried saying that?” _

_ Osamu tilted his head back and laughed -- loud and hoarse and starkly unkind. “Tried? What? To tell them that I didn’t intend ta cast a spell that would kill my only competition for the kingdom at the exact age he’d ascend to the throne of the sun?” _

_ Osamu wiped a tear from his eye, smiling cooly. “Of course I tried, but when you are evil, or marked as such; when yer strange and unusual and possess magic, nobody wants to hear whatever it is ya have to say.” He cleared his throat. “Even if it’s the truth.” _

_ At that Kiyoomi dipped his head, respectfully, and turned to leave, bread in tow. _

_ “But yes,” a quiet voice called after him. “I do miss him.” _

“Can’t I just marry his brother?” Kiyoomi had later asked his mother. “I don’t want to marry someone who’s cursed to die.”

She laughed, bright and melodically. “Omi, angel, that’s not how it works. And besides,” she pushed back his mop of curls to press a kiss to his forehead. “He’s not cursed to die, just to sleep for a long, long time.”

“That’s even worse.”

_ The third. _

Spirits were very real and very dangerous.

It was well known and understood that one did not follow voices into the woods or make deals with shadows that spoke in charming voices. Kiyoomi had been raised with a healthy fear of such beings but even so, he could not shake the haunting feeling that had settled upon him that he had to follow the voice of whoever was singing.

So, shedding his tarnished cloak and abandoning his diadem to the dirt, Kiyoomi set off into the wood to find the source.

  
  


**iii. a gift of beauty and song**

_ “I wonder,” _ Atsumu sang, twirling in his private glen. A secret botanical dance hall just for him. Eight years ago when his god-fathers had taken him away, they had created this space for him to play and grow and learn. This small sanctuary in the trees, hidden and quiet and Atsumu  _ loved  _ it.

And the forest  _ loved  _ Atsumu. Whether it was the innate sensation of  _ love  _ that emanated from within him or the lilting tone of his accented voice -- developed after years of chatting with the folks of the village whose tongue was similar to that of the Inarizaki Kingdom, but featured modified phrases and an emphasis on certain words that Atsumu had found so charming that he’d learned to speak in the same manner.

Regardless, the woods looked after him and all the creatures that lay within it. Deer fawned over him and birds flitted in his shadows. He’d befriended a particularly odd owl that he’d named Konoha, who now resided in the high branches of Atsumu’s favorite clearing.

Then there were the foxes, Suna and Kita, who would tumble out from the brush in a brown and silver flash before nipping at Atsumu’s pants until he’d lay on the ground and let them press little kisses to his cheeks. He was truly a blessed man.

It was also true that Atsumu was striking in all ways that he could be. Hinata had been the one to gift him that privilege and still crooned about how generous and ridiculously lucky anyone would be to set eyes upon his beloved child. 

Even now, in his peasant disguise, which he felt infinitely more comfortable in, Atsumu was like something right out of a dream. Time had only served to bless him; long, lean muscles stretched him into a limber young man of tall stature. His hair was a pale gold in the sunlight, bleached out from hours spent roaming the woods as a child, then a teen and now a burgeoning adult.

_ Atsumu had become a skilled archer, teaching himself in his spare moments after academic lessons from Akaashi and cooking lessons from Bokuto, who was decidedly not a chef, but tried his very best.  _

_ Hinata was the least helpful of his fairy god-fathers, or perhaps that wasn’t quite true -- Hinata actually did quite a lot. It was Hinata who cast protective spells, working through the night sometimes to weave some new pieces of magic together. It was he who went to the castle to collect trinkets and baubles and Atsumu’s measurements to seamstresses whom he was told were hard at work preparing a wardrobe fit for a prince in anticipation of Atsumu’s return.  _

_ It was Hinata who told Atsumu, in the secret moments of the early morning, about the handsome prince he was betrothed to. _

_ “I think I see him, sometimes, in my dreams,” Atsumu had confided in Hinata, his head in his lap. Hinata ran his warm fingers lovingly through his locks, humming. _

_ “I am sure you do,” Hinata affirmed. “You had met many times before your curse.” _

_ “Have we met since?” _

_ “I wouldn’t know. It’s possible you may have passed one another in the village, but time, it is so silly and odd. I’m not sure I would know him on sight if we passed him. Sometimes he likes to guard his face with ornamental cloth when he goes out in public.” _

_ “How odd,” Atsumu said aloud, but internally thought: _ how charming.

_ “I see him sometimes, in the castle.” _

_ “Is he kind?” _

_ Hinata shrugged. _

_ “Does he… Does he want me to return?” Atsumu had asked, voice catching in his throat _

_ “I am sure he feels the same haunted longing in here,” Hinata reached to tap the space on Atsumu’s chest where his heart lay. “That you do.” _

_ Atsumu pressed his palm over his god-father’s hand. “I hope so.” _

Nowadays there was not much Atsumu  _ could  _ do but think about and long for the day that he might find comfort in the arms of the man he’d longed for. To help remedy that feeling, if only a little, Atsumu liked to sing a lullaby to himself that his mother had sung to him and Osamu years ago.

_ “I wonder, I wonder why each little bird has a someone to sing to, sweet things to. A gay little love melody,” he continued. “I wonder, I wonder, if my heart keeps singing, will my song go winging to someone, who’ll find me, and bring back a love song to me?” _

As he finished, Atsumu flopped down onto the ground, rolling in the soft grass. “Why do they still treat me like 'm a kid?”

“Who?” cooed Konoha from above him.

Atsumu shielded his eyes from the sun, gazing up at his feathered companion. “My fairy god-fathers! They never want me to meet anyone.”

“But ya know what? I’ve fooled 'em. I have met someone,” he said as Kita and Suna came and tucked themselves on either of his sides. 

“Who?”

Kiyoomi followed the song of the spirit in the wood as far as he could until he stumbled upon a clearing of flowers and sweet grass. A circle of the brush had been flattened by repeated footfall and he seemed to have found the source of the song.

“Oh,” the stranger said, chuckling. “A prince.”

The creatures stirred up quite a fuss, chirping and squealing. _Ah, it's some annoying villager._ Kiyoomi thought to himself.

“Yes, yes, I’ll tell ya all about him,” he said. “Well, he’s tall and handsome and, and  _ so _ romantic.”

“Oh, we walk together and talk together and just before we say goodbye, he takes me in his arms… and then…” he paused dramatically, leaned against a tree, arms crossed, gaze wistful. Kiyoomi found himself curiously entranced. The young man sighed, “I wake up. Yeah, it’s only in my dreams, but they say if ya dream a thing more than once, it’s sure to come true. And I’ve seen him so many times.”

Suddenly, from the shade of the woods, burst a brilliant yellow cloak and a crown of woven gold carried by an assortment of sparrows. Konoha dropped down from the trees to fly just above them and the crown was deposited atop his head.

“Why it’s my dream prince!” Atsumu playfully bowed as the assembly of bird folk before him transformed into the vaguely human form. “Yer highness.”

The sparrows dipped the floating cloak and Konoha hooted at him from beneath his crown and Atsumu laughed. “You know I’m really not supposed to speak to strangers, but we’ve met before.  _ I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream.” _

And with that Atsumu took a corner of each side of the cloak in his thin fingers and began to spin them in lazy circles, singing all the while.

**iv. a shared dance**

It was quite a sight, the stranger and his creature show.

The stranger was an attractive young man dressed in a loose white blouse and fitted riding pants, who danced with a yellow cloak,  _ Kiyoomi’s yellow cloak _ , which was being held aloft by a series of small songbirds that twittered back to the man when he spoke to them. He laughed, spinning and dipping, wrapping himself into the arms of his invisible dance partner and then traipsing back out.

_ “I know you, the gleam in your eyes is so familiar, a gleam.  _ _ And I know it's true that visions are seldom all they seem. But if I know you, I know what you'll do, you'll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.” _

This went on for a while until the strange man ended his song with the line;  _ “You’ll love me at once the way you did once upon a dream.” _

“What a beautiful melody,” Kiyoomi said, stepping out from the brush with a devilishly handsome smirk on his face.

Atsumu spun around on him, smiling then frowning, grimacing actually at having been found. “Oh!”

“I’m awfully sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” Sakusa said, hands thrown up defensively.

“It wasn’t that,” he said. “It’s just that you’re, uh, uh--”

“A stranger?” Sakusa asked. “But don’t you remember? We’ve met before.”

Atsumu cocked his head. “We have?”

“Of course, you said so yourself. Once upon a dream,” Kiyoomi said, smiling in the smallest and most dashing way. He offered out a gloved hand to Atsumu. “Shall we continue your dance?”

Atsumu grinned, delicately placing his hand in Kiyoomi’s. That grin grew even brighter as Kiyoomi, in a low, rumbling voice began to sing the same lullaby Atsumu had been singing only moments earlier.

_ “I know you, I walked with you once upon a dream. I know you, that look in your eyes is so familiar a gleam. And I know it’s true that visions are seldom what they seem. But if I know you, I know what you’ll do. You’ll love me at once, the way you did once upon a dream.” _

Kiyoomi’s hands were gentle, cautious as he gripped Atsumu’s hand and placed his other on his waist. Together they took off into the woods, stepping in time to some unspoken melody. Kiyoomi was lanky and a bit unpracticed in his moves but Atsumu, just a touch shorter, had spent many evenings dancing in the pubs of the village until the dawn broke. After all, practice made perfect and Atsumu longed to be perfect in all his pursuits. Now, he pressed them forward, right hand in the handsome stranger’s and left hand firmly on his shoulder.

Atsumu laughed as they went and as Kiyoomi grew bolder, spinning him in tight circles, before grounding him back in place in his arms. It was almost as though some invisible string drew them together, taut and charming, some magic that told them every move they needed to make before they’d taken the step.

Dizzy and high on some dream-like level of euphoria, Kiyoomi twirled Atsumu in one final circle before releasing him from his grip, save for a pinky, which he interlocked with his own. Atsumu regarded their intertwined fingers with an intense curiosity before turning his gaze on Kiyoomi and nearly blinding him with the most brilliant pearlescent smile he’d ever seen.

“How dreamy,” Atsumu mused, swinging their fingers between them as they walked alongside a creek. “Yer not so bad a dancer.”

Kiyoomi laughed, a sort of strained and awkward noise. “I'm a bit out of practice, but you looked so sad without a partner.”

“I'm usually without a partner,” Atsumu admitted.

“Perhaps it's because your singing voice is a bit rough," Kiyoomi mused and Atsumu rewarded him with a perfectly indignant look.

“I'm sure I don't know what ya mean,” Atsumu sniffed, turning his nose up to his handsome companion. “Apologies, by the way, for yer cloak and crown. I’m sure Konoha will take good care of them.”

“Ah, I’m not sure I’ll want them back after an animal’s been all over them,” Kiyoomi said, more to himself than Atsumu.

“Your cloak would touch yer horse while riding anyway, wouldn’t it? So, what’s the big deal with a lil’ owl dancin’ in it?”

“I suppose you’re right,” Kiyoomi conceded as they reached a small impasse which forced them to step through the babbling water. Kiyoomi was careful, measuring his stride as he awkwardly hopped from one stone to another. Atsumu laughed at him, the sound like ringing bells, as he charged right into the creek, bare feet dashing him across the way. 

Kiyoomi was about halfway through the creek when he blinked, realizing something very important. “I feel that I should ask, who are you? What is your name?”

Atsumu blinked, like a spell had been broken. “Oh, uh, my name. Oh no, no, I can’t! Goodbye!”

Kiyoomi startled as Atsumu very suddenly began to dash away. He shouted after him, “Well when will I see you again?”

“Oh! Never!” Atsumu said, panicked, casting his gaze around for an escape route. “Never!”

“Never!?” Kiyoomi barked out.

“Well, maybe someday.” Atsumu said, mysteriously, pausing in his efforts to flee.

Kiyoomi frowned. “When? Tomorrow?”

“Eager, aren’t we?” Atsumu laughed, stepping into the edge of the shadow. “Perhaps, this evening?”

Kiyoomi quirked up an eyebrow, a devilish smile danced on his lips. “This evening? Already? Who is the eager one now?”

Atsumu grinned, “Oh, it’s certainly me. After all, as I said, I have seen you, many times. In my dreams.”

He tapped his temple knowingly.

“You’re a disaster,” Kiyoomi let slip out, before it occurred to him that it might be rude to say such a thing to a stranger.

“And yer too blunt, but we can work on that.” Atsumu laughed. “I’ll meet ya outside the Himeji Dance hall, in the village, at dusk. Don't be late!"

And with that he darted off into the woods, leaving Kiyoomi dumbstruck and pleasantly warm from the touch of the handsome stranger.


	2. an unusual prince and a village darling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Atsumu's god-fathers are not very good at being domestic, even with magic. Kiyoomi is actually not very good at dancing.

**iv. bad cakes and sloppy dresses**

Atsumu returned home in the fading afternoon and found his fairy god-father’s involved in a whole mess of chaos.

“I told you not to start cooking a cake if you didn’t have all the ingredients,” Akaashi sighed, hands full of bowls filled with dubiously edible foodstuffs. Bokuto was covered in a fine layer of flour which made him look like a ghost. He laughed heartily, impervious to Akaashi’s scolding.

“That’s why I started now, so that by the time it’s Tsum Tsum’s birthday, I’ll be a professional.”

“That’s not necessarily how it works.”

Bokuto shrugged, cracking an egg into a bowl that seemed to be exclusively filled with sugar. “If it tastes bad, I’ll just use magic to make it better.”

Akaashi gave him a long-suffering look but decided it was probably better to just let him do as he pleased. Atsumu offered a little wave of greeting, which Akaashi returned with a wink. 

Hinata was in the farthest corner of the room, pinning dusty pink pieces of fabric here and there on a mannequin. “Oh yes, yes, yes. Mhm, this is great. Oh, this will be excellent.”

It decidedly did  _ not  _ look excellent at that exact moment in time. One sleeve was pinned significantly lower than the other and appeared to be about half the length. The thread used to hold the pleats of the skirt together switched from a brilliant silver to a bright red as though the craftsman had forgotten to purchase enough of the correct color and had simply decided to make due with what they had readily available.

“Oh, Atsumu,” Hinata perked up at the return of his princeling. Gesturing him over, Hinata presented the hodge-podge dress to him with unbelievable pride. “How do you like this?”

“What is it for?” Atsumu asked, kindly and trying very hard not to laugh at the disaster before him.

“You! For your grand return to the kingdom.”

Atsumu frowned, but tapped his fingers against his chin so that Hinata knew he was thinking and not disproving. “Ya know, Shoyou, there’s a new style in the kingdom that I’ve seen in the tailor’s shop that I think would be just darling on me.”

Hinata sighed. “So, you don’t like this one?”

“I didn’t say that! I said that it might… not quite be in style and I wouldn’t wanna embarrass ya and the other two by showing up in something old-fashioned.”

“Old fashioned? Excuse me?” Hinata huffed, tugging on a sleeve as though to adjust it but instead it pulled clean off the form. 

Atsumu stifled a laugh against his palm. Fabric crumpled in Hinata’s palm as he spun his wand out and made the severed sleeve  _ poof  _ out of existence. Then he turned to regard the dress, then Atsumu, then the continuing disaster in the kitchen which appeared to be escalating but Atsumu could check-in on that in a moment. Waving his wand again, Hinata floated the dress off the form and spun it, pulling thread from fabric and pins from pleats. Each piece of material then settled gently in a crafting basket for repurposing on some other day. 

Once the dress had been dealt with, Hinata reached into his pockets and procured a sachet of silver coins, offering it to Atsumu. “Buy whatever style of outfit you’d like for your birthday and we’ll magic it into something better once you’ve returned.”

“Oh,” Atsumu said, staring down at the bag of coins in his hand. “Are you sure, god-father? I still would like it if you made me something special for my return.”

Hinata blinked. “Well, of course, like I said, buy something  _ simple _ , to suit your adult taste in finery, and I will make it fit for a prince. Now, I’ve work to do, go bother the other two.” And with that he waved Atsumu off.

“So, what are we doin’ over here?” Atsumu asked, perching on the end of their dining table to assess the damage being done. Again,  _ lots  _ of flour and a smattering of gooey eggshells covered the opposite end of the table.

“Cake baking,” Bokuto grinned.

“Mess making.” Akaashi said at the same time. They each shot the other a curiously angry look. 

“Can I help?” Atsumu offered.

“No, not unless you want to be cleaning egg and flour off the interior of this cottage for the next week and a half.” Akaashi said, muffling what seemed to be a laugh behind his palm as he jabbed at Bokuto’s complete inability to bake.

Bokuto huffed. “That’s so rude. I am trying very hard to make something suited for our ward’s birthday and instead of helping me, all you can do is mock me!” He turned his nose up, crossing his arms.

Akaashi pulled his wand from within his sleeve and waved it at the mess, magicking it off to the void, leaving behind a subtle nutmeg scent and a spotless kitchen. “You can just have someone in town make something. Why don’t you focus on finishing carving that bow you started on instead?”

Atsumu’s eyes lit up. “A bow?”

Bokuto grinned. “Well, I thought you might need a proper weapon, you know, returning to the kingdom as prince and future king and all that.”

“I’m not sure how much time he’ll have for leisure,” Akaashi snarked.

“Oh? And what excellent gift will you be bestowing upon our sweet Tsum Tsum as he leaves?”

Akaashi laughed then, a sharp and brilliant sound. “Bokuto, why, I gave Atsumu his whole life back. My magic will protect him until the day that he dies.”

Bokuto pouted. “That doesn’t count, we  _ had  _ to give those wish gifts. Why aren’t you making something?”

“Who said anything about me not making something?” Akaashi said mysteriously, wiggling his fingers at Bokuto until they sparked with a poof of silver magic.

Bokuto stabbed a finger at his companion. “It’s not fair to keep secrets, Akaashi, you gotta tell Hinata, Tsumu, and I what you’re working on.”

“I do not and have never had to tell either of you fools what I’m up to,” Akaashi scoffed, fluffing his cloak as he turned away from the kitchen. As he made his way to the staircase he tossed a quick wink to Atsumu and Bokuto before dashing away to work on his secrets.

“Well, he magicked my ingredients away,” Bokuto sighed, flexing his fingers and nabbing his wand from the table. “So, guess I’ll… do… something.”

“God-father,” Atsumu said. “I was wondering if ya could mend the hole in my dancing shoes before the evening.”

Bokuto blinked at him. “Oh, of course. Are you going out this evening?”

Atsumu flushed.

“Are you going out this evening… and meeting someone?” Bokuto pried, leaning into his ward’s space, silver-grey brow rocketing upward.

“Um, well, ah, that is,” Atsumu’s mind scrambled for an acceptable answer. 

He was engaged to a prince he knew nothing of with a little under a year to go before his birthday, he had never dallied with man or woman in the village before except in stolen kisses and frenzied dances in the halls the past few months, and he was always stuck under the watchful eye of three well-meaning, but sometimes overbearing god-fathers. Did they even know the names of the few villagers he’d befriended? If they did, they’d never let on that they had. So, even using real names of real friends, Atsumu was certain he’d be perfectly fine so long as he referenced anyone that was not of potential romantic threat to his betrothed. 

“I’m just meeting Yacchan and Kiyoko for ales and a dance or two. I’ll be back before dawn, as always.”

Bokuto rocked back on his heels. “I see, I see. Then yes, just remind me before you depart.”

**v. a dance with kiyoomi**

Every inch of sky was stained lavender and turquoise as Atsumu made his way towards the Himeji Dance Hall. In the distance a bell tolled six times and the young prince picked up his pace, well-worn dancing shoes -- newly repaired of their sole holes -- clicking against smooth cobblestone. As he neared, the sound of music already filtered out into the street, complemented by the idle chatter of villagers and the raucous laughs from the pub beside it.

Prince Kiyoomi was leaned up against a wall just beside the main entrance. Atsumu raised his hand in a tiny wave to watch his attention and the gesture was immediately mirrored in an adorably sheepish manner.

Kiyoomi was wearing a new outfit, one that he must’ve purchased in the village as it had all the markings of the province. He wore a doublet made of a fine olive hued wool, the collar and sleeves of which were made from a stunningly intricate brocade; cranes and water lilies woven together in metallic thread. Over the doublet he wore a black overcoat made of a velveteen fabric, lined with a silver silk, at his waist sat a braided belt which cinched his outer layer in place. Across Kiyoomi’s mouth sat a curious new addition, a mouth covering made of the same brocade that looped around his ears, bridged his nose, and hugged his sharp chin. 

“Ya look very dashing,” Atsumu commented, suddenly feeling severely underdressed. Kiyoomi cocked his head, eyebrow adorned with two moles quirking charmingly up, tossing a few stray curls across his forehead. The diadem he’d had earlier was no longer in sight and the lack of it made him seem all the more boyish and alluring.

Kiyoomi offered his hand out to Atsumu, who took it gently. “No more dashing than you, I suppose.”

Atsumu looked down at himself, fitted black riding pants and a loose peasant shirt with embroidered roses on the cuffs at his wrist, his worn shoes on his feet and his unstyled hair. “Hah, I don’t look anything like ya right now.”

Kiyoomi leveled him with a sharp expression and Atsumu scrambled to add “I just mean to say that I can look a lot better.”

“I think you look very handsome,” Kiyoomi said, leading them towards the dance hall entrance where music began to drown out each of their individual abilities to think. Abruptly he stopped, fingers darting to his temple.

“Ah, wait.” 

Atsumu frowned, “Is something the matter?”

“I don’t… I don’t know your name.” Kiyoomi sighed. “And you don’t know mine.”

Atsumu laughed, brilliant and loud, gripping Kiyoomi’s arm, sneakily feeling the swell of muscle he knew was settled beneath the luxurious fabric it was currently swathed in. “Atsumu.”

“No, my name is Kiyoomi,” he deadpanned and this answer earned another bright laugh from Atsumu.

“Well, that’s lovely, but  _ my  _ name is Atsumu!” 

The tips of Kiyoomi’s ears turned pink startlingly pink. “Well, Atsumu, shall we?”

“Ah, Omi, so quick to move on from your blunder. It’s okay, I’m still interested in ya.”

“Omi…” Kiyoomi echoed, a bit starstruck at the immediately earned nickname. Atsumu beamed at him, tugging them into the fray of dancers inside. Time to test Kiyoomi’s true skills.

They spent the first seven or songs struggling to find any kind of common footing. Kiyoomi had immediately assumed a lead position but it wasn’t doing either of them any favors. Atsumu found himself expending an extreme amount of mental energy just to compensate for every misstep Kiyoomi made. It was cute, he thought, that Kiyoomi wouldn’t just admit defeat, and Atsumu was happy to hop and spin as long as was necessary to convince his partner that they simply were not meshing.

If Kiyoomi had been smooth as a flowing river in the woods, languid and stepping in faultless time, he was like a newborn lamb in the throng of village dancers. He seemed to not know a single of the traditional steps and repeatedly stomped Atsumu’s feet as they continued to attempt to find their rhythm. Atsumu didn’t even bother trying to hide his laughter, it was hilarious seeing such a handsome and severe young man so deeply out of his element.

“Omi,” he choked out through a strangled laugh when they finally hit their tenth song of the evening. “Do ya not know any of these dances?”

“Are any of these dances a traditional waltz?” Kiyoomi grumbled, shimmying them over to the sidelines. 

“Oh, certainly not.” Atsumu grinned, spinning Kiyoomi away from him and then tugging him back. “How about we switch?”

“Switch?” 

“Let me lead you,” Atsumu said, squeezing Kiyoomi’s hand.

“But you’re shorter than me,” he protested half-assedly.

Atsumu rolled his eyes. “ _ Please _ tell me yer not dancing with such a dashing young man such as myself and telling me that I can’t lead ya because I’m  _ short. _ ”

Kiyoomi cleared his throat. “I said you’re  _ shorter  _ than me.”

“Okay linguistics professor, I’m sure it makes a world of difference.” Atsumu huffed, then shoved Kiyoomi back and rearranged the placements of their hands so that Atsumu assumed a more dominant positioning. “Ah, see, so much better already.”

“Seems like you just like to be in control,” Kiyoomi said, stalely.

Atsumu winked at him. 

“Not always,” he said as he led them back into the chaos of the main dance floor, snaking them through the spaces in between other pairs, finding every spare square of floor that he could utilize to mold Kiyoomi to his steps.

“Okay right foot, bah bah, left foot, bah bah.” Atsumu hummed along with the music, tinny and loud yet somehow clinging to the edges of a certain charming musicality. Kiyoomi gave up trying to fight Atsumu’s teachings and simply moved and swayed in time to avoid Atsumu’s domineering steps. “Right foot, bah bum, left, left, right foot, bah bum. Okay then in four measures of music starting  _ now _ there’s a stomp, stomp,  _ stop _ and then the song ends. Got it?”

“Sure, stomp, stomp,” Kiyoomi started.

“Shush, one more measure,” Atsumu said, then stomped, pulled Kiyoomi to him. Stomped. Then he grinned devilishly, swinging a knee between Kiyoomi’s legs to unbalance him into an uneven dip, sending Kiyoomi’s hands flying up around his neck, warm and soft against the neatly shorn hair at the base of his skull.

“Ah, yer becoming a natural.”

“You’re exhausting,” Kiyoomi commented, still cradled in Atsumu’s arms. They righted themselves as the band began to pack up their things.

“I’ve heard that before,” he hummed, looping his arm through Kiyoomi’s and leading them off into the cool night air. 

“Are we done dancing?” Kiyoomi wondered aloud.

Atsumu nodded, a bit shyly. “I let you take the bulk of the songs because I thought you knew how to lead.”

“You’re really quite rude,” Kiyoomi snapped.

Atsumu turned up his nose, haughty and unhappy. “Oh? It’s  _ rude  _ to point out that ya wouldn’t just say you didn’t know the steps? Well, excuse me, Omi, you must just be a  _ delight _ to dance with at balls.”

“Well, I would be if I had a partner like you,” Kiyoomi answered, still with a tone of scolding.

“Ha! You’re such a drag, Omi. Next time I’ll know not to waste our time by politely letting ya lead. I’ll just take charge and teach you another thing or two.”

“Good!” Kiyoomi shouted, playfully. “I’d rather you just put me where you want me!”

“So you’ll come back to the dance hall tomorrow evening?” Atsumu asked, tugging his arm from Kiyoomi’s and turning to face him, arms now crossed fussily across his chest. “For your continued  _ teaching _ ?”

Kiyoomi hemmed and hawed for a moment, pulling his curious mask down from his mouth. “I suppose I must, if I am to continue courting you.”

Atsumu’s eyes widen. “Yer courting me? But you nothing of me.”

“And you know nothing of me and yet now we’ve danced twice,” Kiyoomi shrugged, a sharp grin slipping onto his mouth. “It feels only fair I should let you know my intentions.”

Atsumu ducked his head, feeling the heat of a blush spreading across the entirety of his face. “Kiyoomi, yer a bold, bold man.”

“I hope that’s part of why you might like me,” Kiyoomi laughed and stepped back into Atsumu’s space, head tilted down. Atsumu tipped his face up, their breath mingling in the chilled air. They each scrutinized every inch of the other’s face. Atsumu found himself particularly fond of the twin moles on Kiyoomi’s forehead. Two little circles, perfectly accenting an already perfectly handsome man.

Kiyoomi’s eyes closed and he edged closer to Atsumu until their lips were nearly against one another and he met… cold finger tips. He blinked his eyes open, startled as Atsumu peered sheepishly up at him.

“I hope yer not thinking of kissing me,” Atsumu whispered, humor rich in his tone. “Because ya haven’t even taken me to dinner yet. Who dances without wine-ing and dining their beau first?”

Kiyoomi chuckled, low and fond against Atsumu’s fingers which slowly retracted themselves. 

“Tomorrow then, shall we do dinner before our dance?” 

“Why yes, dear sir, I would just love that.” Atsumu teased, bowing playfully. “Well, goodnight, sweet Kiyoomi. I shall dance with you again tomorrow. Try not to miss me in the meantime!”

“Goodnight, Atsumu. I shall not make promises I can’t keep,” Kiyoomi said, smirking as they parted ways into the purple-black of the night, a red hue staining both their faces as they each turned away from the other.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know anything about real dance steps! 
> 
> Also, you may have noticed the chapter count went up - it's because this fic is actually much larger than I initially anticipated it being so I have divided it up into more manageable chunks for me to write and edit. On the bright side though, it means it will take me less time between updates!
> 
> As always kudos & comments are so, so appreciated. See you in the next chapter ~!


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